


Sections of a series

by ScarecrowJones



Category: Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fuck Uther, Multi, Other, Tumblr, evil unicorns, he's terrible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26626321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarecrowJones/pseuds/ScarecrowJones
Summary: It's... sections of a series I'm working (slowly) on about King Arthur and all that jazz. Also on tumblr, username Swixtern
Relationships: Elaine of Garlot/Nentres (Arthurian), Gorlois/Uther Pendragon one sided!implied, Guinevere/Arthur Pendragon, Ygraine de Bois/Gorlois (Merlin)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Are we there yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1138 words of Arthur, Cai, and Bedwyr running from, and fighting, an evil unicorn. Violence. Swearing.

Tired from running all night, Arthur &co. finally came to stop after sunrise. Arthur doubled over, hands on knees to catch his breath, and panted heavily, almost certain he'd throw-up; Bedwyr had collapsed against a tree and slumped down into the damp earth and decaying leaves, red-faced and looking to sleep; Cai, to his manner, was rummaging through their bags, nearly unaffected from their prior stint, looking for wine and cheeses.

Arthur gave him a quick curse.

"Oh?" Cai inquired, glancing at Arthur and raising a brow at the High King's ruinous state, a grin tugging a corner of his mouth. "Did you want something too?"

Arthur considered, still mostly breathless, "Where--where are we?"

"Lothian, I think."

"Wine," Bedwyr croaked, reaching a hand vaguely in Cai's direction. Cai snorted and went back to his rooting.

"How--how much--how much farther until Dunpelder?" Arthur asked, trying to stand, and swayed.

"Day's ride?" Bedwyr figured. but, then again, he'd never been good at guessing distance...

Cai looked back at Arthur as he handed Bedwyr a flask. "Sit," he commanded.

Arthur meant to--really, he did--but instead he plopped down hard enough to clink his teeth.

Cai snorted and passed out cheese and stale bread. "We've lost our horses, though, so that's a good three days on foot." Arthur groaned and Bedwyr half-sobbed. "Imma make a fire and you can sleep that run off when you're done refreshing."

Cai noticed, as he turned away, Bedwyr draining the last of the flask. He kicked his boot. " _Oi!_ Make sure you eat." Cai shook his head and wandered off, picking up good sticks as he went.

His arms half-full, Cai started circling back to 'camp' with his collection when he saw the boots poking out from behind a hawthorn tree.

Cai side-stepped away from the tree and a bit of the legs came into view: splayed wide, one of the knees drawn up tight as though their owner had slid down the tree; the shallow ruts in the earth proved as much when they ended at the heels.

Cai stepped closer around the tree some more and saw the man's fate: gaping, bloody hole in his chest, a trail blood dried to blue lips, and dark brown eyes wide open. There was a bloody impact mark on the trunk above him.

_Death by Unicorn._

A sense of dread filled Cai --they were still too close to the beast.

"What are you _doing_?" Arthur asked, slurring in exhaustion, eyes heavy.

 _Damn._ Cai looked to Bedwyr. _Damn. Still asleep._ He hauled Arthur over and kicked the Marshal. "Get up. We need to move. Now."

Arthur swayed onto his own feet and asked, "Why?"

Cai was mildly relieved to hear his voice was a little more clear.

"Body. Ran through by a Unicorn. We're too close," he answered, helping Bedwyr to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. "We gotta go."

Cai released Bedwyr, grasping for their bags, keeping him in view all the while.

"C'mon," he directed, pulling an arm of Bedwyr's across his shoulders and looked to see Arthur already walking stumbling ahead. He nodded to himself. _Good boy, Wart. You can do this._

The king wasn't as young as he used to be and now... after everything that'd happened with Amr... it was _really_ beginning to show...

Somewhere along the way, Bedwyr sobered up enough to no longer need Cai’s support as they walked on. The sun reached midday, then dropped –the shadows growing long and narrow once more– and they’d only paused long enough to catch their breath occasionally and to relieve themselves.

“Cai,” Arthur called and the welshman looked over his shoulder. “Do you think we’ve gone far enough?”

To be fully honest? Cai was certain they were still in range but… taking in the state of his companions…

He heaved a sigh. “I think we can spare a few hours. But we really do need to keep moving.”

Bedwyr leaned gratefully against a tree and Arthur used one to help himself sit.

It being as early as it was, Cai figured they could forgo the fire for now, and bid the others sleep –he’d stand guard.

Okay, standing guard wasn’t exactly right. What he did do, though, was sit down some distance between then and throw pebbles and twigs at them, amused each time one of then flinched, and kept a trained ear on the hunt for the accursed beast. 

_Fucking Northerners. Just_ gotta _have Unicorns running around…_ He shook his head in exasperation.

 _This was_ supposed _to be a leisurely trip_ –going to see family and get Arthur out of Camelot for a reason _other than_ fighting.

Something to get his mind off Gwenhwy-fawr, politics, and death – _maybe bring some of that ‘life’ back into him._

_But, no. We gotta deal with a fucking Unicorn._

_Not good._

_Gawain had_ better _send out rescuers after the rest of the party gets there or I swear to God I’ll kick his ass –I don’t care_ _ **WHAT**_ _time of day we get there. Ain’t no sunshine gonna help that boy…_

He sighed and lobbed another pebble at Arthur –hitting him in the nose– and then plucked a blade of grass; wrapping it around his finger idly. _Watching people sleep sucks._

[Break]

He felt it coming before he’d heard it; the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He jumped to his feet and drew his sword. He rustled the others awake, a finger to his lips, as his eyes darted around.

The other two pulled themselves to their feet and joined their backs to Cai, swords in hand.

For several minutes, the only sounds that could be heard were their own ragged breathing and blood pounding in their ears.

A twig snapped –Bedwyr’s right– and a clash of swords rang out as Bedwyr was thrown to the ground.

He looked up to see Caliburn locked with the underside of a spiraling black horn, the beast glaring with great, big, green eyes at Arthur, who was bearing the whole of his strength into it.

The tip of the horn was inches away from Bedwyr’s forehead.

Cai hauled Bedwyr to his feet as the Unicorn broke the bind.

Caliburn clashed again with the horn and Bedwyr’s blade lodged itself into the shoulder of the beast.

The black horn ran into Arthur’s hip –the king giving a cry– and Cai placed a blazing hand against the white, winter cold flank.

The coat singed –hissing– and the Unicorn screamed and turned on Cai, gouging Bedwyr’s breastplate in the process, and Arthur bit Caliburn into the creature’s side. Bedwyr tore a great gash into the flank as Cai stabbed into the lower neck of the beast.

Arthur and Bedwyr watched in horror as it reared, whinnying, and its wounds healed. All except the deep breach caused by Cai.


	2. Three Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short little thing about Elaine of Garlot and Nentres with a little cameo of little Isolde of the White Hands.  
> Except...I messed up the family a bit... oops😅

* * *

Elaine and Nentres lived together for many contented years and had many happy children. The eldest was a boy they named HoeI, after Budic's father; Elaine, after her own mother; Galveriun; Kahedin; Isolde.

It was while besieged that three things happened to this family -- two good, one bad.

As the castle's food stores were run down and it seemed as though the lot was likely to starve, Isolde went down to play in the garden and, if Elaine had not been there to see it, neither she nor her husband would've believed it: little Baby lsolde, just three years old, was making the plants grow; either Brigid or The Dagda, it seemed, had blessed the child and they would not go hungry -- even if it _was_ onion soup, much to Budic's disagreement.

While showing her husband what had transpired in the garden, Elaine was a-party to the second good thing: Budic and Elaine softly, quietly, declared their Iove for one another.

It was a few _too_ long months later that the Bad Thing happened: Elaine the Mother had her first miscarriage. Elaine was devasted and something in Nentres turned bitter though he often reassured her that it wasn't because of... her.


	3. A King is Named

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is 456, just a few months before that one fated “peace-conference”. In an effort to promote unity before Vortigern and the Saxons, Consul Constantine Aurelianus bids kingship (having been convinced to do so by Uther). Gwrlais, as a youth, had been fostered with the family Aurelianus in attempt to build peace Cornwall and the Romans.
> 
> Note::this is subject to possible adjustment (especially once I get that accursed speech done)
> 
> Wordcount:1014

Ambrosius stood beside his father with Uther to his left as the men from all civilized kingdoms entered the wooden hall. The delegate from Cornwall entered —the third and youngest of Cornwall’s Princes— Erbin, Duke of Devon, and Ambrose regretted it was not Gwrlais; he knew it would do Uther some good to see his companion again.

“The last to arrive, as always,” Consul Aurelianus chided with a grin, taking Erbin’s arm in greeting.

“Well now, Sire, if I were any sooner, I’d be Duke of Cornwall,” he jested and took Ambrosius’ arm, then Uther’s. On their way to their seats, Uther asked of Gwrlais and why he was not in attendance. Ambrosius eyed his brother but Erbin answered, “He’s in Wales currently, Ergyng; his wife’s on their third child.”

“ _Wife?_ ” Uther asked sharply.

“You didn’t know? He married a few years back in 451; before Octha.”

“This is news,” Aurelianus hummed agreeingly, “but not the most pressing matter at the moment. Erbin, your seat,” he instructed with a gesture. “Uther, Ambrosius.” The brothers took theirs and their father addressed the public. “Men of Britain, welcome. Some of you have come from the far reaches of Wales, from Cornwall, Rheged, Lothian, and distant Kerne. Thank you for coming.

“Vortigern and his Saxons have called for an assembly at a date and place of my choosing. It is my intent that all of Britain should stand together, presenting a united front against these foreigners. […insert speech that ends with bid for kingship here]

The room fell silent and many a man looked upon one another and their liege-lords. Some of the men took to drinking a bit of the wine; one man scratched his nose; another eyed one of the serving girls—anything, really, to avoid speaking first.

“And what of Cornwall?” Erbin eventually asked, breaking the silence. “How would this concord aid us? Would you defend against the Scots with us?”

Lot of Lothian spoke, “The Picts still raid on us and the Vikings plunder the north. Will you fight against _them_?”

“The Saxons are our first and foremost concern,” Ambrosius said, rising from his seat. “The Scots come and go. The Vikings come and go. God would do well to curse the day they realize they can join together. Yes, the Picts still raid, but their incursions are far fewer than ever before and less damaging than those of the Saxons; The Saxons are _here_ and they are not leaving without force.” He sat.

“Kerne has no troubles with the Saxons; our plights are with Veneti and the Vikings,” Nentres, a young king, argued, a hand on his chin and an elbow on the table.

“The Britannic Ocean protects you from them,” Uther agreed. “But for how much longer? What happens after they claim Britain? Do you think the Saxons would fight the Scots? As strong and united as they are? Or would they turn their greedy eyes towards you, already surrounded by foes as _you_ are?”

Nentres sat back, eyes dark as he considered, jaw clenched and fingers tapping his armrest. “Alright,” he said after a moment. “You have me; Aurelianus for king. If you aid against Veneti after.”

Aurelianus gave his promise and Ambrosius put a mark by Kerne. “Urien?” he prompted.

“Rheged will not stand with you,” Urien of Gorre decreed. “The Walls are unmanned; no.”

“We could use a general like you,” Aurelianus appealed.

“Of course you could,” Urien said, a dark smirk playing on his deceptively young face. “But no.” He stood, pushed in his chair, and left, his wine untouched, giant claymore in hand.

As Ambrose crossed Rheged from the list, he caught in the corner of his eye Uther’s displeased stirrings. There arose even more stirrings from the 300-plus men in the room; Urien was quite possibly the strongest amongst them all and he had refused their bid. Ambrose closed his eyes for a moment and sent a quick prayer to God; Britain would fall if they could not unite. “Powys?” he inquired.

“I see the merit,” Cadell said slowly, standing. “But would you face the Scots _before_ or _after_ aiding Kerne?”

“That would depend entirely upon immediacy,” Uther answered impatiently. “We would have to ta—”

Angusel abruptly stood. “I’m not satisfied. Saxons are close to reaching the Hadrian, the Irish are attacking my shores, and my brother is plagued by Vikings. If you can reach a conclusion, send for me. I’m leaving though.” He went, like Urien, but sent a glance towards Lot that was not returned.

Uther stood before Ambrose could stop him. “Aright! I get it! We all have our own interests! Angusel is Scotti by his mother; the Scots pillage the coasts. Lot’s wife is Pict, the Picts raid south—”

“My wife is _Orkadian_ , you prick.”

“—The Anglians don’t like The Fens and The Fens don’t like Mercia. I know. I understand. I don’t care and neither should any of you. There are nearly four-hundred of us here in this room and we are all enemies of each other to some degree. Can we kill each other _after_ we’ve defeated the Saxons?”

Ambrose hung his head and Uther left the room. The room was silent for some time before someone stood and Ambrose looked up.

“Elmet for Aurelianus, King of Britain.”

“Deira for Aurelianus, King of Britain.”

“Gwent for Aurelianus, King of Britain.”

“Lothian abstains.”

“Durotrigia for Aurelianus, King of Britain.”

“Lundein abstains.”

The delegate from Bernicia asked, “Who would be your second?”

“My son Ambrosius Aurelianus, of course, with Uther as Leading-General,” Aurelianus answered and many of the men gathered seemed to settle. Within the hour, most of the lords and kings gathered declared for Aurelianus; 305 lands all totaled, and Ambrose could not keep the grin from showing ever so slightly.

His father, Aurelianus, High King of Britain, stood and addressed his vassals for the first time. “Lords and Kings of Britain, you have my most sincere thanks. Return to your homes, families, and lands. In two months’ time, we shall reconvene with Vortigern and his Saxon delegates.”


End file.
